Holy Mountains
by blackdragonhellfire
Summary: In which Jason relearns patience, despite never properly learning it beforehand. Also on AO3.


Jason arrived in the village tired and sore.

It had been an exhausting walk down from where the car had dropped him off to this dinky little town in the middle of nowhere, and he was tired down to the bone. But, nevertheless, he was going to get to the address Talia had given him. Or else.

He trudged through the village, keeping his head down. He didn't want to look too out of place in such a small community, but it was inevitable. There weren't a lot of people about, so it was pretty easy to peg him as a foreigner.

Jason passed through some farms, being careful not to step on any of the crops. This was a farming community in the middle of some valley in the Middle East somewhere, how would he know? He was only here to find the person Talia sent him to.

The house where he was supposed to go suddenly loomed in front of him, despite being much smaller than Wayne Manor. Maybe about only the size of its garden shed. But he didn't care. He was there to learn, not to complain about lodgings. He'd leave that to Dick, the fucking whiny-ass bastard. Couldn't even take him in the Manor, the asshole.

He stood at the door, and knocked three times.

_Knock, knock, knock._

Jason kept standing at the door for what seemed like hours before the occupant of the house opened the door.

It was a balding man, not some sort of grizzled assassin type warrior dude. Jason could just tell from looking at him.

What the hell was Talia thinking, sending him here?

Jason sighed internally. Sometimes that woman could be insanely frustrating, but she was the only shot he had at achieving his newfound purpose in life:

Revenge.

"Yes?" The man said, looking up and down at him. His thick accent stood out from those of the ones in the city, a little more rounded, but still smooth.

"Uh…" Jason stammered, "A woman named Talia sent me here."

The man nodded.

"Uh huh. So what? I'm trying to sleep."

Jason just knew this guy was going to be trouble. Maybe he had gotten the wrong address? He was just about to turn around and head off when the man spoke up again.

"You just gonna stand there, or are you going to come in?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry."

He stepped into the house, and surveyed the raggedy interior. Cigarette stubs littered the table, and the area vaguely smelled of smoke.

It had been a while since Jason had smelled a cigarette. Or smoked one. Too long of a while.

The balding man sat down at his table, but Jason remained standing. If Talia was right about this guy, he was going to be tested soon. And he never knew when that was going to happen.

"So. Talia sent you?"

Jason nodded.

"Great woman. Crazy, but amazing in the sack. She send you for training?"

Jason nodded again. He didn't need to know the bit about Talia in bed, but…

"Aw, damn."

The old man sighed.

"She always does this. Damnit."

The old man stood up.

"I guess we'll get started then. What's your name?"

"Jason."

"Well Jason, just call me Sarkisian. Follow me."

Jason followed him into the sunset, eager to find out what they would be learning.

Oh, how that would change.

* * *

"Climb up the mountain."

"What?"

"Idiot. I said, climb up and down the fucking mountain, and get back to the village by tomorrow. Good luck."

"What mountain?"

"Figure it out, punk. I'm gonna go take a smoke."

Sarkisian nonchalantly began to walk back towards his house.

"But...Hey! There's no fucking mountains near here!"

"Then find one, eshoog!" he called back over his shoulder, continuing to walk down the street.

Jason could feel the rage bubbling up inside him. Who the hell was this guy to tell him to climb a fucking mountain without any context! This Sarkisian guy must be the worst teacher he had ever had in this field! And that was saying something, as the last one Talia had given him had ended up with a bullet in his skull. Creep.

He'd show this Sarkisian guy that he didn't need him, the fucking fraud.

"Fine, I'll climb up your fucking mountain! Just you wait!"

Jason turned and stomped down the road, ready to get the old man's task over with.

Unbeknownst to him, Sarkisian smiled behind his cigarette.

Talia was right. This one was going to be interesting.

* * *

"Oh. You're back already."

Jason stood by the door, panting. He had managed to get part of the way up the mountain before realizing that in his haste, he forgot to get basic supplies. Like food and water, and maybe a few weapons.

If Bruce was here, he thought sardonically, he would have killed him.

He slammed the door behind him and stomped in, his mood even worse after thinking about his old mentor.

His _father. _

"What the fuck, old man!" he yelled, "Why the hell didn't you remind me to get supplies before climbing the damn mountain?"

Sarkisian sat at the table, smoking cigarette in hand. He looked totally nonplussed at Jason's outburst, like he had dealt with this type of shit every day. Jason wouldn't know. He just wanted to punch that smug man in his smug-ass face.

"Which one did you climb?"

"Which one do you think I did?"

Sarkisian took another drag of his cigarette.

"I got some Tabouleh and potatoes here from Houri-nene next door. Said she smelled my cooking yesterday and felt bad for me. Want some?"

Jason glared at him, still bitter at him for making him go up the mountain.

"Hell no. Stuff it up your fucking ass."

"Nope. You're eating it anyway."

"What -"

"What do you mean, 'what?' You just climbed a fucking mountain. Of course I'm going to give you food, or your more of an eshoog than I thought you were."

Jason scoffed, and sat down. It wasn't like he had a chance arguing with this guy, anyway.

He almost reminded him of Alfred in that way. If Alfred chain smoked and acted twenty times more obnoxious than Bruce did during one of his obsessive brooding sessions.

"What the hell does eshoog mean, anyway?"

Sarkisian put his cigarette out, before moving to the kitchen to grab some plates and silverware.

"Eat up, and I might just tell you."

* * *

Jason sat on the balcony, looking up at the glittering stars above. He had never been able to see so many stars at once before, even at Nanda Parbat.

Good old Nanda Parbat, full of backstabbing assassins and with some seriously crazy motherfuckers in charge. Crazy, but well connected. If it weren't for Talia's connections, he'd never be able to learn the skills he needed to put together his plan.

To get vengeance for all of the Joker's victims, once and for all. Since Bruce never would.

Fucking Bruce. He was the supposed to be this goddamn righteous superhero, and he wouldn't even avenge his own kid? Why did he not do anything, and then up and replace him? Did he really mean so little to him?

And why the fuck did he care, when Bruce so obviously didn't?

God, he needed a smoke. And there was no way in hell he was going to ask the old man for one.

"Need a smoke?"

Jason turned back towards the voice slowly, his hand resting on the knife he had hidden in his pocket. He pulled it out in one smooth and practiced stroke, and threw it at the person behind him.

Sarkisian caught the blade calmly, and walked towards him.

"Jesus Christ, kid. I wasn't going to try to stab you or anything."

Jason scoffed.

"Sure."

Sarkisian sat down beside him, and looked up towards the sky.

"The stars are sure pretty, aren't they?"

Jason grunted. No way in hell was he going to give Sarkisian the satisfaction of hearing him agree.

"Well then, you never answered my question."

Jason scoffed.

"No. If I want to get a smoke, I'll get it myself. Is that clear?"

Sarkisian smiled, and pulled out a pack of Marlboros from his pocket. Jason personally preferred Pall Malls, but he wasn't going to say anything.

"Here."

Jason took the pack, and grabbed a cigarette.

Sarkisian handed him the lighter, and Jason flicked it on, watching as the flame began to eat away at the end of the cigarette in his hand. Sort of how he did under Bruce's care, burning brightly until being snuffed out by the Joker.

That sadistic fucking clown. He'd get what was coming for him.

"You have to rely on other people sometimes, you know."

Jason took a drag of his cigarette, and blew it out, making sure that some of it got into Sarkisian's face. Stupid fucking smug Bastard.

"Tried that." Jason replied, thinking about how he had relied on Bruce once. How that had ended up. Where he was now. "Look where it got me."

He could already feel the nicotine hitting his system. And damn, it felt good after so long.

"Then try again, eshoog. You'll need to make some allies if you plan doing whatever stupid mission you came here to train for."

Jason whipped around.

"How the fuck did you know that?"

Sarkisian raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"What else does anyone come here to train for? The Olympics?"

Jason rolled his eyes.

"I get it, old man."

Sarkisian took out a cigarette of his own, and lit it.

"You know, kid. I think I've figured it out."

Jason looked at him incredulously.

"Figured what out?"

"Just what I'm going to teach you."

"What do you mean?"

"That you need to learn to _think _before you act. Not just storm off and do whatever the fuck you think you're doing."

"What do you fucking mean, old man? I do that! I've done that for years-"

"That's what I mean."

"What?"

"You get angry, and all you see is red. Like with the mountain. You were too busy being pissy to notice that you didn't have any fucking supplies, you eshoog."

Jason sat, stunned into silence.

Maybe Talia was right about this guy. He was crazy, but he sure as hell was right.

"You know," Sarkisian continued, "If you had just looked past your anger and thought for one goddamn second, you could have climbed the mountain and said goodbye to this place forever. But you didn't. Which means you still have something you need to learn from me."

"And what the fuck is that?"

Sarkisian took a drag, and looked into the distance.

"Patience, eshoog. Patience."

Jason stubbed out his long forgotten cigarette, and then looked at his so called teacher.

"How do I learn?"

* * *

Jason stood at the top of the mountain, and looked down at the lush valley below, the cool mountain wind whipping around him.

Two days later, and he had finally done it.

Now, only to get back down.

* * *

"Well I guess you can get out of here now, eshoog. Now that you actually managed to climb the mountain."

"You know, old man, it really wasn't that goddamn hard."

"And that's because you thought before you did it the second time, you punk. Just remember, that in whatever mission or crusade you plan on doing? You gotta think long and hard before you act. Don't just run in. Otherwise, you'll just end up killed or mutiltated or something."

"That's nice."

"Exactly. So think, eshoog, and get the hell out of here."

Jason rolled his eyes, and walked away, leaving the house and the village in the distance.

He never would have believed a few days before that he'd almost be missing it.

* * *

"So," Talia asked him when he got back to Nanda Parbat, hands on her hips, "What did you think of him?"

Jason just walked past her and into the temple, sick of her prying.

He needed a nap.

* * *

**So, a little context: This story takes place in Lebanon, in a fictionalized version of the village where my mother grew up. Sarkisian, if you couldn't guess from his last name, is a Lebanese Armenian, like my mom. So I guess I had to write this, to both celebrate my heritage and do it while writing a character I enjoy. So here you go!**

**Also: Eshoog means Ass in Armenian, and Nene means Grandma. **

**Comment and Kudos!**


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